Contagious
by Mello's Favorite Reject
Summary: Matt did it. He finally removed the one thing that held him back all these years, but in doing so, he destroyed everything he'd ever known. And, unwittingly, he'd allowed the disease to spread. OneShot


**Title: **Contagious

**Summary:** Matt did it. He finally removed the one thing that held him back all these years, but in doing so, he destroyed everything he'd ever known. And, unwittingly, he'd allowed the disease to spread.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything that may be referenced. At best, I take credit for my clever wordplay and dejected feelings.

**Author's Note:** Bad shit goin' down. Needed to vent. Wrote this up. Review if you feel like it. Don't flame it; my life sucks enough without flames.

…

* * *

Matt's eyes were wide and fearful as his grip on the knife loosened; it slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor, transferring blood from itself to the once-clean environment. He looked to his hands and saw the telltale red liquid glistening on his own flesh as well.

His emerald eyes, wet with emotion, looked at the body. It was clothed but somehow naked. He thought of touching the body, checking for signs of life, but simply seeing the lifelessness seemed efficient enough.

His mind felt hazed; he shivered even though he wasn't cold. He looked at the knife again and recalled how things got to be this way; how he ended up with blood (literally) on his hands; and the sheer significance of the person whose life he'd taken.

…

Mail was a little boy who smiled when he was happy, yelled when he was angry, and cried when he was sad. Mail was normal. Mail gave his dad high-fives and kissed his mom on the cheek. Mail _tried _to remember to clean his room weekly. He climbed trees outside and walked through the woods, laughing when he would see a squirrel. He spied on the neighbors and could almost swear that behind the shed was the most secretive hiding place in the world. He dug up earth worms with old metal spoons and he always wondered which end was the head and which end was the butt.

Mail enjoyed being inside as well, though. Mail loved to watch TV or play videogames. Mail loved to run around the house and jump on the furniture… even though he wasn't supposed to. Mail would sometimes grab an old baby blanket, tie it around his neck like a cape, and jump off of things –trying to fly. Before dinner, he'd sneak a cookie or two, and he always denied it, even when the evidence was all over his face. Mail played board games like Checkers or Monopoly. Mail exaggerated his frustration when he spilled his cereal or missed a Power Rangers marathon.

Mail was an average child with a good home and school life. Mail was normal. Mail loved life.

But… Mail was sick too.

The redhead's mind was always filled with vile thoughts –thoughts that he dared not share with anyone. When he picked up a pen, he wondered how much force he'd need to force the tip through someone's flesh. When he sprinkled cinnamon on his pancakes, he would grow excited at the idea of holding someone down and dumping it down their throat… inevitably suffocating them. When he saw people weaker than him, he would anticipate getting his hands on their flesh, digging his fingernails in, and just destroying them from the outside in. And… when he saw people who were clearly physically superior, he had to force back a cackle… because he saw an exciting challenge behind their seemingly ignorant disposition.

Nobody knew how sick Mail was. Nobody wanted to know. They wanted to look at him and see a perfect child, so that's exactly what they saw. They didn't notice when that gentle smile became a spiteful smirk. They pretended not to know what the awful stench was when small critters were caught and slaughtered and hid in a shoebox under Mail's bed.

People were blind. Mail was not.

In a world where bad things didn't exist, Mail explored the taboo, testing the limits of frogs and squirrels… and then moving to trap the neighbor's beagle.

He petted the doggie, whispering foul warnings in a soothing voice, tricking the animal into offering licks of affection. Mail saw that pink tongue dart out and he retrieved a pair of scissors from his pocket. Then, he quickly opened the blades and snipped the animal's tongue, closing the scissors hard and fast and severing the wet pink muscle. The blood was immediate and the beagle was torn between shock and panic; it crooned while its body jerked and spasmed. And all Mail could think about was shutting it up. So, he adjusted his hold on the scissors and…

The dog collapsed before he even realized that he'd stabbed the poor animal. He threw the bloody scissors toward the woods and picked up the slaughtered dog; he carried it to the neighbor's house and crammed it into their mailbox.

Many similar instances occurred, but nobody suspected what was going on. They looked at Mail with adoration as he set up Mario on the Nintendo and began to play like a good little boy.

But… Mail wasn't really a good little boy.

And, eventually, killing animals became boring; and he grew curious about human anatomy. But he knew it was wrong to kill people and that he could get into a lot of trouble. So, he concluded that he would have to target someone who wouldn't let him get into trouble; it was the only way to ensure his safety while he explored his secret hobby.

He targeted his mother while his father was at a work-related meeting. He walked up to her with a smile; she smiled back and asked if he wanted to help with supper. He answered her by picking up a glass coffee cup and hitting her with it.

He expected it to do some damage, maybe knock her down or something. Nothing of the sort happened, though. Instead, she gasped in surprise and turned a look of confusion and wariness on her son.

Mail pouted when he realized how much more sturdy humans were than the other critters he'd played with. Still, he was determined. "Let me get a knife, mommy; it'll only take a minute. I promise." He looked at his mother and smiled again, but… when he saw her eyes full of fear, he was consumed with guilt.

Mail didn't like to feel guilty.

Mail wanted to make the guilt go away.

Mail decided that the only way to stop feeling guilty was to rid his mother of that awful expression.

And so, Mail took a knife, and…

-Yes, Mail was very sick indeed. But Matt was worse. Matt was like Mail in many ways, but… Matt hated Mail. Matt had dreams, thoughts and feelings. Matt wanted to grow up and get a job and become a dad. Matt was a killer too, but… he desired a happiness he couldn't afford.

Matt schemed and plotted and worked hard.

Mail did nothing.

Matt cared about others. Matt wanted to get ahead in life. Matt met a friend called Mello.

Mail yelled at Mello and said hurtful things. Mail thought about dipping his fingers into a bloody cavern and finger painting a fleshy canvas.

Matt grew to fear Mail. Matt worried for his own safety, as well as Mello's –because, as fucked up as it all seemed, the blonde bombshell became a friend to the redhead and even moved in, being promoted to from acquaintance to roommate.

But of course, Mail seethed and leered and grew angry. Mail didn't like that Matt was so close to the blonde that he denied him the chance to play. Mail began to plot ways to destroy the feelings between Matt and Mello.

But Matt expected this.

And like Mail had done so many times before, Matt took a knife… and found his target.

Green eyes bore into their mirrored opposites, and with no words exchanged, that knife fucked itself into a human-sheath… 13 times… before Matt realized what he'd done.

…

And this is where our tale began. Matt stared at Mail's corpse, and though he was frightened and crying, he smiled. Because he was free. Free to be who he wanted, when he wanted. Free to love Mello as something more than an opportunity for a cheap and murderous thrill. Free… to let go.

And Matt closed his eyes, knowing that Mail's eyes were closed too.

And, in only a few short minutes, Matt's own life was depleted.

…

Hours later, a particular blonde entered the house, dropping his keys onto the kitchen table and yelling: "Matty, I'm home. Get your ass out here; I've got a surprise for you!" The blonde listened for any indication that his redheaded boyfriend (_were they boyfriends?)_ was even home. Hearing none, he began to search the small house, starting with the game room. "Matty, c'mon. Your birthday's tomorrow. My boss at work is ridin' my ass, so I have to work, but… I wanna give you your gift early!" He eventually found his way into their shared bedroom and, upon entering, his eyes widened and his heart stopped.

Because right there, before his very eyes, was Matt, covered in blood and apparent stab wounds, laying on the floor and facing his reflection in a broken mirror. The instrument for suicide was right next to the deceased redhead, telling the blonde all he needed to know.

Matt couldn't live with himself and his memories. The things Mail had done were too much for him to handle, and so… Matt took care of the problem the only way he knew how –the only way Mail knew how.

…

Two days later, an investigation was done and cops found two corpses in a small house.

Two bodies.

Two lovers, friends, and personal lifelines.

Seeing no signs of struggle and a murder weapon in plain sight, the authorities ruled it as a double-suicide.

But… no one knew the truth.

The truth was that Mail was sick. Matt was getting sick. And Mello was too late to cure either of them; he became infected.

…

* * *

**/Yeah, this is probably confusing as fuck, but… basically, Mail was a fucked up kid that seemed normal but had a fetish for killing; Matt was his alter ego that has all the same memories but none of the desire to murder. And poor Mello fell into the mix, fell in love, and ultimately, committed suicide too. Review, please. –So, does it make sense? In my mind, it does. So, REVIEW./**


End file.
